


Spit Your Pity in my Soul

by phantomystery



Series: Sold Me Out To Save Yourself [1]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Angst, Corey Taylor - Freeform, Corey being a nuissance, Kind of smut?? If you squint, No gender specified, Self-Insert, Sweet, angst?? kinda, gender neutral reader, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomystery/pseuds/phantomystery
Summary: You met Corey in December of '93. And he's a dickhead and impossible. But one thing leads to another and you end up together, like, fully committed. Which is really great and awesome. But neither of you really understand the definition of 'talk about your feelings' so y'know. Feelings get hurt.
Relationships: Corey Taylor/Reader
Series: Sold Me Out To Save Yourself [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081361
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	Spit Your Pity in my Soul

**Author's Note:**

> hey what's good, coming at you with good 'ol work #2! I kinda wrote a lot for some reason and i'm formally apoligising for that because holy shit.  
> uh, anyways! i wanted to write about something and i was in my feels listening to snuff for the past, like, 8 hours so this is a product of that. be warned that i, personally, think im kinda shit at angst so the rest is kinda decent but if the ending is bad to you, don't be mean, okay, i tried my best. okay! and i'm going to formally apoligize because i know some of the dates are a little off because my math isn't all that great, but yknow.  
> also i say and a lot. sorry.  
> i hope you like it, fellas.

Corey Taylor was, in the nicest way possible, an actual nightmare to be around, especially when you had met him. Fuckin' twenty one years old and a literal bat out of hell. He walked around cocky and arrogant; a dumbass smile on his face because, I don't know, he thought he was better than everybody else or something.   
He interrupted conversations because "Hey, that's great and all, but my mindless, egotistical ranting is more important than whatever the fuck." y'know. And he didn't listen for longer than 2 fuckin' minutes, but he talked for 12 damn hours, and you had seen him making his rounds and had made a mental note to stay the fuck away from that guy at all costs.   
But when he inevitably pushed his way in between you and some kid going on about how 'severely underrated Kiss was/ is', (which genuinely made no sense to you because, dude? Everybody knew who fuckin' kiss was even if they didn't want to know. It's not like they're brand fuckin' new, either.) you practically took his hand and let him whisk you away to literally anywhere but there. And just to get the point across, you basically threw yourself into Corey's arms, still not even knowing his name at this point, and you kissed the motherfucker, like really fuckin' kissed him.   
And eventually the Kiss Kid wandered off awkwardy, which meant a job well done, and Corey had escorted the two of you into some dark dodgy corner where you were practically dry humping eachother, and clashing your teeth against eachother's and it was so fuckin' gross and the reason for you even kissing him in the first place was long forgotten, but you didn't really care and you almost forgot just how obnoxious and annoying Corey was until he had pulled back from sucking your face off to say some bullshit about "You know... I'm in a band. Stone Sour. We're fuckin"‑ and you stopped his dumbass right then and there and you felt stupid as all fucking hell, because, dude you're in the middle of a fuckin party or whatever this shit is, practically having sex with this guy and he starts talking about his band?? What a prick.   
So you leave him standing in the corner of some dank ass living room and you aimlessly make your way around the house this party is at until you found a bathroom to figure out what you had just spent doing with the last, I don't know, 10 minutes of your life. And like some stupid ugly romcom, he all but kicks the bathroom door in which scares you out of your skin and you scoff as he tries to make up excuses for whatever he tried to say to you earlier. (Things like, "You just seemed like you'd like our music!" or "Try and tell me you don't like me." Which like, yeah, up until that moment you did, if you were to be completely honest with yourself, and you still kinda did, a little, which you absolutely loathed.)   
You scoffed some more and he spewed some more bullshit and one thing led to another and you're kissing him again and he smells sweaty and you're kind of wishing you weren't in some like, crack den making out with him because this would probably be more enjoyable. And by the end of the night your number is written on his hand with some sharpie you found in your coat pocket and you're walking yourself home after denying a ride from him because you're too hot to even think straight. And it's 3am and cold because it's mid-december in Iowa, dude, but you feel good and light on your feet and you can't stop thinking about Corey fucking Taylor, no matter how hard you try to.   
And. y'know, all things were fuckin' peachy keen with him and with you for a long while. (Well, what can be considered a long while for kids. That being, a year and some odd months.) But Corey likes to bite off more than he can chew, he always has, and so he's going on about this guy Shawn he had met at some crazy ass show and how they had to bail all these kids out of jail, yadda yadda, and you're listening, and nodding along to the things he's saying cuz you get it, and you're happy he's making friends and all that good stuff, but he's tripping over his words and repeating sentences and you feel tired with all the repetition and excitement in his voice, you just end up turning your ears off, almost, because he's saying so much, so fast.  
But then you're feeling like a dog, because your ears are perking up when he says, "Yeah, and Shawn plays drums, dude! And we were talkin' about getting together and making music or something." Because that makes you feel happy but fuckin' stressed because you know Corey's good. And you haven't met Shawn, but the way he talks him up, you know he's good, too. And he notices you're quiet and drops into a squat in front of you so you can be eye level with eachother, and he's asking you what's wrong and all this boring sweet stuff that makes you cry just that much more.   
And you end up on the floor in his lap and he still doesn't really understand why you're so upset and it frustrates him to no end, which kinda breaks him apart, but he holds you close and once it's done and over with, you never bring it up to eachother because it feels weird and like too much talk.  
It's not until '97 when you properly meet Shawn and these guys Corey's been jamming with for a little bit, and they're all great guys and their talent feels overwhelming as you just sit and watch, and you find yourself thinking; fuck, dude, they're gonna fly themselves out of here sooner or later. And you sit in your thoughts for the entirety of their little jam sesh, and you wave goodbye to all of the guys as you and Corey leave and he has his arm around your shoulder even after countless times of you asking him to just let you go because "I don't want to smell like a fuckin' corpse too, dumbass." But he just laughs and leaves a chaste kiss to your temple and he smells exactly the same as when you first met which is kinda gross, but it hits you in a wave because, holy shit you've been with him for what feels like forever when you think about it, like really think about it, and it's so bizarre that it leaves a weird taste in your mouth. You never say anything about it, though. It feels better that way.   
And there's countless fights in the many years of your relationship. Of course there is. Because Corey's, well, Corey and you're you. But by the time the good 'ol year of 2000 rolls around, you're both in your mid-twenties and still in love but you push a lot of things to the side that you intend to forget about but never do. And maybe you're being arrogant, maybe you're the one who's egotistical and obnoxious now when you decide to let out shit that should be between the two of you and not the whole fuckin' band, but you don't care, you're the selfish one, apparently.  
Being sensible seemed to be out of the question, because you were seeing red out of nowhere and angry for what seemed to be nothing because you're choking on your own words now as you try to explain to him how, maybe being in a band is something that is going to have effects on your relationship and maybe we should talk about it, but he's not understanding and his walls are going up, and neither of you care about the embarrassment of eight other dudes being in the room, because you and Corey are all "fuck you!" and "hey, fuck you, too!" and it doesn't matter.   
They take it upon themselves to have whispered conversations of their own and eventually leave the room as you yell at Corey about something to do with "Maybe I don't want you to be in this stupid fucking band. Have you ever thought about that, douchebag?" And you don't mean it but everything went so fast with them, and Corey was so heavily included in Stone Sour and Slipknot and everything under the sun, it seemed, and neither of you ever wanted to just sit down and fuckin' talk to eachother about it, because having sex was easier than yelling and arguing, and making up was easier when you had nothing to disagree upon in the first place.   
So you've spat all your hatred and anger into his dumb, smug face, and he's crying just as much as you are and his face is red, but you don't care anymore. You're out of breath and more tired than you've ever been before, and you can't even remember why you even decided to start shit in the first place. You insulted him, calling him a 'fuckin' prick' and even going as far as to call him 'an untalented shitsack.' which was probably the biggest lie you've told in your life, but it was also the straw that broke the camels back, because he's telling you to get the fuck out and just pointing at the door. And he won't look you in the eyes, even when you try to apoligise and take back anything and everything you said. He just shoves you back away from him and towards the door.   
And, yeah, you leave and you're fucking embarrassed as you shuffle past the eight men in the hallway and out the front door of the recording studio the boys are stationed at, and you walk a freezing trek back to the apartment you share with Corey and it's cold as fuck, because it's Des Moines, (because Corey always found his way back here. No matter how far he went. They wanted them all practicing in a studio in LA or some shit and he refused up, down, left, and right because, "Fuck you, we're stayin' in Iowa.") and you find yourself thinking about that bullshit party from six or so odd years ago. The bullshit party that pushed Corey Todd Taylor into your life and it doesn't feel as good as it did on that day, because you're in the same damn situation you were then, but flipped on its ass. And it burns your chest as you try to breathe and forget how, and you can't hear or see anything other than the white of snow under your shoes.   
And it takes you a minute or two before you finally think to yourself that, yeah, you love the shit out of Corey and yet this seems to be the part where you get off the fuckin' bus because you're pretty sure he doesn't want anything to do with you anymore.   
So when you push open the front door of your apartment 40 minutes later, you're just shuffling as you pack shit into plastic bags from the grocery store and a duffle bug you had brought here as an overnight bag that never made it back to your original place. And it seems stupid and awkward when you decide to write a note on the back of a receipt; telling Corey how much you love him and how sorry you are. (And you end it with your name and some weakly drawn hearts just to let him know you care.) And you leave your parents' number at the bottom, too, because, where the fuck else are you gonna go now besides there?  
And you shut the door behind yourself as you go and once you're in the shitty taxi you called, you don't look back again, because you don't want to cry in front of some old guy who doesn't know who you are, and doesn't care about the half-assed breakup you went through no more than 2 and a half hours ago.   
Corey does call you- nearly everyday for two weeks after you end up at your parents', and you know he does because you're sleeping on the couch with your head right next to the house phone. Yet you deliberately ignore the ringing and you get used to it after a while; comfortable. And the best part of your day becomes hearing the voicemails he leaves, no matter how heartbroken he sounds on the other side.   
And it's selfish and gross and horrible of you, but you can't bring yourself to talk to him. You're not even sure what the reason of leaving your number behind for him was if you never were gonna answer.   
The calls stop after a while. And you wish you had recorded some of them rather than leaving them to be deleted by your dad when the inbox got too full. And what's done is done. Including you and Corey. 


End file.
